


Little Secrets

by Corseted (anroisin)



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, in which the Uchihas are ballerinas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anroisin/pseuds/Corseted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots in rapid succession. A love story in fragments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> "I have no excuse for this, except that 80% of it was written between the hours of three and ten in the morning on very, very little sleep." {As written when posted and is my entry for the Great Bitter Nakano Summer Exchange of 2010.}

 

 

 

_October, 2010_

It's never particularly quiet in New York City, but Shisui doesn't want to sleep anyway.

Itachi is on his side, hair spilling over his neck and fanning out against the pillow. The light from the streetlamp outside pours through the venetian blinds, leaving bars of buttery yellow streaking across Itachi's ribs. Shisui slides his fingers against them, the skin uniformly soft and warm and a little damp, raising where it stretches over his bones and dipping back again into softer hollows. A car horn blares; a group of friends break into loud, drunken song.

Shisui runs his palm over Itachi's side and down his back, coaxing him to lie on his stomach. Itachi rolls over slowly, still asleep; Shisui moves closer, chest pressed against Itachi's arm, and kisses away the susurrus of a sleeping protest from dry, parted lips.

“I love you,” he whispers into the hot, salty skin of Itachi's neck.

 

_June, 2005_

Shisui was absolutely certain that Rhode Island was the most boring place in the entire country.

“Dad,” he said, lying flat on his back—the hotel room beds were too springy and the blankets felt like they were made of plastic. He missed his ratty futon with its ratty tie-dye sheets. “Dad. I'm bored.”

Shisui's father, used to his antics, didn't look up from the task of putting his clothes away into the hotel's dresser. “Then do something,” he said absently. “Read a book. You have summer reading, don't you?” He looked over his shoulder, trying to make eye contact, but Shisui ignored him in favor of sighing dramatically and rolling onto his stomach.

“Finished it _weeks_ ago, Dad. It was stupidly easy. I'm _bored._ Tell me what to do.” He heard a chuckle from his father, and hid a small smile in the pillow. Abruptly, something soft and light was thrown at the back of his head; his swim trunks, he realized upon rolling over and grabbing them. He stuck his tongue out at his father, who gave him a wry grin in return.

“Shisui, you're bugging the crap out of me. Go ask Brianna and Kelsey if they want to go swimming.” He turned back to his unpacking, and Shisui gave a very loud, very dramatic groan of protest and spent the entire time it took to change out of his clothes complaining about irritating teenage girls who called him a shrimp and made fun of his taste in music.

–

It was no surprise that Brianna, twelve, and Kelsey, fourteen, agreed to down to the pool with him, but refused to actually get in the water. They preferred instead to lounge by the side of the pool and pretend to sunbathe, and when Shisui pointed out the fact that not only was it after seven in the evening but that the pool was indoors, they took turns rolling their eyes and flipping their hair and pretending to be oh so bored with everything, _especially_ annoying thirteen year old cousins. Shisui got back at them by canon-balling directly in front of their seats, splashing their legs with chlorine and making them shriek indignantly as he back-stroked away.

Floating around alone in the water was only amusing for so long, though, and Shisui was about to give up and bother his cousins again when a vaguely familiar squeal came from the shallow end of the pool. It was empty except for two kids; the little one couldn't be older than five, splashing about in bright orange water wings, and the older one watching him with hawk-like intensity looked to be around Shisui's age. Brothers, definitely; even through the large age gap they looked freakishly alike, with their icy-pale skin and night-black hair and girlishly pretty features. The older one's hair was pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck, a loose piece sticking to his cheek; the little one looked like he'd had a disagreement with the business end of a lawn mower, his hair sticking up in wild chunks like a small, dark porcupine.

He shrieked again and splashed his way over to his brother. “Nii-san, nii-san, can we go play in the deep end?” He grabbed his brother's arm, and the older one's brows knitted together in an expression of worry more appropriate for a little old lady than a preteen boy. It was kind of adorable. Shisui ducked so that his nose was under the surface of the water and blew a few bubbles.

“Sasuke, you are five years old. You can't even touch the bottom in the shallow end yet. We're staying here where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you stay safe,” the older boy said authoritatively, and Shisui suddenly remembered where he'd heard that annoying little voice before; two years ago, at his grandmother's funeral. The younger brother, Sasuke, had mostly hid behind the older one—Itachi, he remembered, was his name. They were Shisui's second cousins, descended from his grandfather's older brother, the pure Uchiha line. Shisui's grandfather had married a German woman, sullying the Uchiha name; the two branches invited each other for holiday events they never actually attended, putting on a show of familial respect while silently loathing each other.

In fact, Shisui's father's cousin Fugaku, his wife Mikoto, and their two children had been the only members of that side of the family to even show up to the funeral. Their little family was as severe and serious as the rest of that branch, but there was something else there, something that made them seem almost passably human. Their murmured sympathies had been soft and genuine, without a single mention of the woman's heritage.

Feeling rather stupid for not recognizing them sooner, Shisui ducked under the water and frog-kicked his way into the shallow end. Itachi's legs were easy enough to find; Sasuke's didn't touch the bottom of the pool, after all. Lucky for Shisui and his devious plans, Itachi was in a wide stance; probably to make himself shorter and look slightly less ridiculous in water barely three feet deep.

One more kick, and Shisui's head was between Itachi's knees, shoulders brushing against the back of his calves. Before Itachi had time to startle and squirm away, Shisui planted his feet on the bottom of the pool, curled his hands around his cousin's upper thighs, and stood up.

“Hey! I'm Shisui, remember me?” he said brightly once they were above water, looking up at the boy on his shoulders. Itachi's face was white, twisted in shock from the sudden lift and what were probably a few heart-stopping seconds of lack of balance. His hands had twisted themselves into Shisui's hair, pulling painfully. Shisui patted his wet thigh reassuringly. “Ow, dude. I'm not going to drop you. You can give me my hair back now.”

“You—my—you're not going to drop me? And saying that after the fact makes it okay?” Itachi hissed, nails digging into Shisui's scalp. “This is so unsafe on so many levels! You can't just go picking people up without their permission!”

Sasuke had stopped splashing and was floating a few feet away, mouth open as he stared. Shisui winked at him and waded over, Itachi's thighs tightening around his neck at the unexpected movement, and Sasuke's face lit up with a grin as he paddled to meet the two older boys.

“Me too, me too! I want a turn!” Sasuke begged, eyes wide and wet. Shisui decided he could rethink the label of 'annoying' in light of such a squishy little face—those eyes could take down governments.

“You're like a really cute basilisk, kid,” Shisui said absently. Above him, Itachi had loosened his grip by an atom, and snorted softly.

“Sasuke, this is not safe behavior. Shisui is going to put me down _right now_ , in fact.” He dug his heel into Shisui's rib, presumably to illustrate his point. The heavy ache in Shisui's shoulders from supporting someone close to his own body weight was starting to get annoying anyway, so he decided to comply.

“If you insist,” he said, and pitched himself backwards, letting go of Itachi's thighs.

–

_“Ayame, think about what you're doing to your son. He loves you. He needs you.”_

_“Shisui knows something's wrong. It'll just make it worse to lie to him. I don't want to lie to him anymore.”_

_“So you're just going to leave?”_

_“You're a better parent than I ever was, Ben.”_

“Oh my _god,_ Kelsey, _look!_ ” Brianna shrieked, jerking Shisui out of his thoughts. He turned toward his cousins, who were staring at the dance floor and giggling to each other. Kelsey noticed him looking, gave a brief, uninterested hair-flip, and turned back to her sister.

“Oh my god. That's _hilarious._ What three year old can dance like Britney Spears?” She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling louder. “That's, like, so wrong.”

Shisui decided against asking what the hell they were tittering about, since they'd just roll their eyes and ignore him; he turned instead to the dance floor, where tiny little Sasuke was twitching his tiny little butt like a music video ho. Big brother Itachi was sitting at a table close by, keeping vigilant watch as was apparently usual.

_“...dip it low, then you bring it up slow...”_

Sasuke dropped into a crouch, pulled himself off the floor, and threw his hands in the air, inducing a fresh barrage of squealing from the girls and a soft smile from Itachi. He looked happy enough, considering he was sitting by himself watching his little brother dance at a wedding reception. Nobody should be alone at a wedding reception, especially if they weren't even dancing—it was practically _heresy_. Shisui got up and moved to the next table, pulling out the empty chair next to Itachi's.

“If I hear one more high-pitched giggle, I'm going to puncture my own eardrums with a dessert fork,” Shisui hollered over the throbbing baseline. He grinned at his cousin, draping an arm over suit-jacketed shoulders. “I didn't get you guys kicked out of the pool, did I?”

Itachi didn't stiffen under Shisui's arm, but he didn't make eye contact either, keeping his gaze on his brother. “No. The lifeguard believed you when you told him it was entirely your fault. He mildly traumatized Sasuke, though, so we left pretty much right after you did.” He shifted a little, the movement slight against Shisui's side.

“That's adorable. Not that I blame him—the guy was a freakin' _tank,_ ” Shisui agreed, wrinkling his nose; he'd never been one for an abundance of muscle. Itachi shrugged in reply, silent and a little stiff. _Right, this is the side of the family allergic to physical contact. Poor kid._ Shisui squeezed his shoulder harder. Someone had to get him used to it.

The song changed over to Gwen Stefani, and Shisui decided it was time to get Itachi moving.

“Let's dance,” he said, moving his arm from around Itachi's shoulders, then gripping his wrists and pulling him to a standing position. Itachi started to protest, and Shisui dragged him onto the dance floor. “With Sasuke. Come on. It'll make his night.” He tapped the younger brother on his shoulder, and Sasuke whipped around, his face lighting up like a department store non-denominational holiday display at the sight of Itachi.

“Nii-san, you're gonna dance with me?” Sasuke cried, flinging himself at his older brother's waist. He pulled back enough to take one of Itachi's hands and one of Shisui's, grinning. “Come on, come on, come on, let's spin around!”

Evidently, Sasuke was Itachi's weakness; he allowed himself to be tugged towards the center of the dance floor, took Shisui's hand (Itachi's skin was soft, contrasting with the stickiness of Sasuke's) at Sasuke's high-pitched insistence, and allowed himself to be spun in a dizzying circle. Shisui was helpless to do anything but follow, though two minutes later he was irrevocably certain he'd vomit and dropped his cousins' hands, making his way towards the wall and slumping on the floor with a loud groan.

“Nii-san is a ballerina,” Sasuke informed Shisui smugly, taking up his own seat next to Shisui's knees. “He's gonna be playing tea in the Nutcracker in the fall! And I'm gonna be a lamb.”

“Ballerino, Sasuke,” Itachi corrected gently, choosing to remain standing, legs elegantly crossed as he leaned against the wall. “Ballerinas are girls.”

“Is that why you suck at shaking your booty?” Shisui asked, putting in a few gasps for dramatic effect. Itachi had moved on the dance floor like a doll whose joints hadn't been oiled in a while; even barely knowing the boy at all, it was obvious how uncomfortable he'd been.

Itachi slid down the wall into a sitting position, knees folded loosely against his chest. His dark eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “In ballet, you're constantly being told to lift, lift, lift,” he said, voice soft, the pounding drum track threatening to drown it out. “In hip-hop, the main idea is to bear your weight down to the ground. The styles are completely opposite.” He reached across Shisui's outstretched legs to prod Sasuke's forehead, inducing an indignant squawk. “That's something you'll have to get used to if you want to be a ballerino, little guy.”

Abruptly, Shisui found himself with a lapful of small, complaining child.

“Nii-san, you said you weren't gonna be mean and poke me anymore!” Sasuke whined, yanking on Itachi's pants. He was warm and squirmy—a bit like a puppy. Shisui wrapped his arms around Sasuke's ribs, entrapping him and giving Itachi a bit of peace while reducing the number of bony knees digging into his upper thigh. Sasuke struggled for a minute, apparently realized that he was no match for Shisui's grip, and flopped back against his chest with a huff. He tilted his head back to glare at Shisui, eyes narrow, the combination of cuteness and venom giving roughly the same impact of a hissing kitten.

Shisui cuddled Sasuke against his chest, any fear of retaliation eliminated by diminutive build and chubby five-year-old cheeks. “You are the most adorable thing ever. Can I just take you home with me?” He turned to Itachi, grinning blithely. “I promise to take good care of him. Gimme your cell number so I can call if I have questions. He doesn't come with a manual, does he?”

Itachi smiled, and amidst the strange feeling that his heart was melting into a pool of butter, Shisui made it his new goal to make him do it again as many times as humanly possible. Itachi reached over and lifted Sasuke from Shisui's lap, pulling him against his side.

“Sorry, he's not for sale, borrow, or rent,” he deadpanned. “Bit of a collector's item, I'm afraid. It'd be pretty difficult to replace him if he got damaged.” The way Itachi looked at Sasuke immediately took contender's position for Things That Made Shisui's Insides Turn To Jello. Sasuke nestled himself into his brother's ribs with a sleepy sigh, and Itachi ran his fingers through his soft hair, leaving clumps of it sticking up in a truly gravity-defying manner.

Shisui glanced at his watch—he was the only thirteen year old he knew who wore one, and that was almost entirely why he had it in the first place—and back up at Itachi, who was cradling Sasuke against his side like a blown glass sculpture.

“It's after ten,” Shisui said. Very, very late for a five year old, which he understood intellectually, but there was a part of him that stewed with childish disappointment at the prospect of his new friend leaving. “Should you get him to bed?”

Itachi smiled, pulling himself to his feet and holding out his hand to help Sasuke up. “Yeah. He's usually in bed by eight-thirty, at the latest. I think all the excitement's keeping him up, but he'll crash as soon as we get to the hotel room.” Sasuke appeared to be trying his best to look as alert as possible, but what little illusion there had been cracked when a yawn split his features, exposing a little pink tongue. Itachi rested his hand on the back of Sasuke's neck; Sasuke seemed to realize it was a lost battle, and rubbed sleepily at one eye. _Squish_ , went Shisui's heart, gleefully making him reconsider his stance on having absolutely no offspring ever under any circumstances.

He reached over and patted Sasuke on the head, making eye contact with Itachi again. He gave a warm smile. “It was fun hanging out with you guys. I'll probably never see you again,” he said matter-of-factly; it didn't hurt, not really. It was more of a slow, uncomfortable tension, and maybe it would get sore after a while, but it was more likely he'd forget about it completely. Shisui was an absolutely _magnificent_ liar—it came with being an actor.

Evidently not so much with dancing, because the smile Itachi returned was colored with an obvious note of sadness. “Yeah, probably. But if you're ever in Boston, look us up.”

Shisui would have kicked himself for wasting valuable time gaping like a fish, had he been at mental capacity to do anything other than stand there with his mouth hanging open. By the time he realized what he was doing, Itachi and Sasuke had already collected their parents and were halfway to the door leading out of the reception hall; Shisui darted after them in a mad dash, whipping in front of them and blocking the doorway while he fumbled for his cell phone.

“Why didn't you say something sooner?” he said, grinning so hard his face hurt. “I only live an hour away from you. Gimme your number. I'll call you.” He handed his phone to Itachi, realized that Mikoto and Fugaku were staring like Elvis had started chatting them up, and toned his beam down to something a bit more respectable. “Hi, I'm Ben's son; we met at my grandmother's funeral and you have raised some truly excellent children here—much more excellent than my first cousins. I hope you don't mind if I adopt them.” Mikoto gave him a kind, albeit slightly confused, smile, which he took to mean 'take them home and keep them forever and ever'. “I am _so_ glad I have your blessing!”

Itachi interrupted Shisui's babbling by returning his phone. He did it with an air of numbness, as though the shock hadn't quite worn off yet and his hands were moving simply because it was what he'd been told to do. Since he was numb and likely to be slow with reaction time, Shisui took the opportunity for a bit more touch-desensitization and caught Itachi in a crushing hug.

“I will _totally_ call you,” he said against Itachi's shoulder. His younger cousin's entire body had gone rigid with the contact. “You have no idea how awesome it is to meet a cousin I don't loathe with every fiber of my being.” He pulled back with a friendly pat on Itachi's shoulder. “Sasuke's pretty okay, too. Cute.”

Itachi blinked. Shisui had a feeling Itachi was maxed out on quick responses, and with a few quick nice-to-meet-yous and a have-a-safe-trip-home thrown in for spice, he sashayed his way back to his immediate family's table. His father was red in the face from laughing at him, but really, it was _Shout_. He dared anyone to keep still.

 

_November, 2007_

Since five months after their first meeting, Shisui had made it a tradition to go and see Itachi and Sasuke perform in their youth ballet company's annual production of The Nutcracker. He lived in Newburyport, a coastal town an hour north of the high-class Boston suburb Itachi lived in; getting there was a bit tricky, but nothing short of Ragnarok could keep Shisui away from the spectacle of Itachi moving fluidly across the stage, thoroughly pantsing every other dancer in his age group (and a few of the older ones as well). It was only fair, since Itachi also made a point of seeing as many of Shisui's plays as he could.

This year, Sasuke had graduated from critter to inanimate object and had made an absolutely heart-melting clown; Itachi had informed Shisui that as the only boy in his class, Sasuke had found himself immediately adopted by every ballerina over the age of twelve. His gender had the added bonus of giving him a position front and center with the other clowns, though Shisui didn't envy him the need to hide underneath miles of skirt to get on and off the stage.

At thirteen, Itachi was technically too young for a pas de deux; he'd been too young for it last year, too, and the dance company had tweaked the choreography to allow for a version of the Russian trepak with three boys. Predictably, Itachi had been put front and center and had blown everyone out of the water, including the boys he was dancing with three years his senior. He'd grown enough by now to be put in a proper duet, and Shisui's heart had beat a little faster at Itachi swirling gracefully across the stage as the Spanish chocolate.

This was evidently a common theme; Itachi was currently in the center of a swarm of what looked like every female member of the ballet company. He had on his ever-so-adorable polite but exasperated face, lips pulled together into a gentle frown as he surreptitiously nudged his shoulder forward to try and escape the mass of tulle surrounding him.

“Nii-san's pretty popular with the ladies, huh,” Shisui said, glancing down at Sasuke, who had managed to escape the throngs of estrogen-high fifteen year olds under the excuse of needing to go give his mom a hug. “Works every time,” he'd said with a casual hand wave that would have Shisui cracking up at the recollection for at least a week. Now, he leaned against the wall with a heavy, irritated sigh.

“It's really annoying. It always takes us _ages_ to leave,” Sasuke said, wrinkling his nose. Shisui resisted the urge to snuggle him into next year in light of his habit of biting anyone but Itachi who tried overt physical affection. “I dunno. They think he's cute or something.”

Itachi finally managed to extract himself from the throng, shooting Shisui a pleading glance as he tried to maintain a safe distance from the rouge-and-lipstick brigade. Never one to pass up the chance for a bit of gleaming white armor action, Shisui strode across the aisle and caught Itachi in a sweeping hug, the scent of hairspray filling his nose. “As always, you were phenomenal beyond words. Capital performance.”

“I am drenched in sweat. Please don't subject yourself to physical contact,” Itachi said somewhere near Shisui's collarbone, voice muffled by the only dress shirt Shisui owned. Shisui gleefully ignored him, choosing instead to lift him off the ground completely.

“Nonsense. What's a little smelliness between friends?” he said airily, adjusting Itachi into a more secure bridal hold. “Here; I'll give your feet a break.”

He began moving towards the door to the auditorium, the squeals of dozens of teenage girls ringing in his ears. Itachi wrapped his arms around Shisui's neck, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. His whole body was overly warm and damp with sweat, as he'd warned, but Shisui couldn't find it in himself to be particularly sickened. It was basic human sexuality that warm, freshly sweaty things were appealing, and Itachi had a pretty face; his elegant features could level entire civilizations with nary a flutter of his dangerously thick, dark eyelashes. Add to that the flush of heat against his usually snowy skin, and it was entirely possible Shisui was carrying his very own weapon of mass destruction.

The whole affair was genetic, Shisui surmised as he called for Sasuke to follow him into the lobby. Sasuke was just as deadly as his brother, if not moreso—he was paler than Itachi, his cheeks flushed pinker, and his huge eyes seemed to be able to turn to liquid in a heartbeat. He had the advantage of lingering baby fat where Itachi was still in the awkward in-between phase of pubescent boniness. Sasuke was the very definition of adorable, concentrated into one neat, pretty little package; Itachi's body was still trying to decide what it was going to be, and in the meantime radiated unsure gawkiness in endearing waves.

That gawkiness made itself known when Itachi tried to tug on Shisui's collar and elbowed him quite fiercely in the process.

“Thank you for carrying me, but I'm capable of walking by myself. I should keep moving to let my muscles recover, anyway,” Itachi said, face tightening ever so slightly as he looked somewhere ahead. Shisui followed his gaze to find Mikoto and Fugaku waiting patiently by the door, and he set Itachi down with a light smile. Sasuke immediately ran forward and looped his arm with his mother's, and Itachi and Shisui followed at a slower pace Itachi wouldn't admit was due to the soreness of his legs.

“You were remarkable, Itachi,” Fugaku said once they reached the door, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder with a small smile. “You've improved since last year.” He didn't say anything to Sasuke, but that was business as usual. Shisui pitied the kid; Itachi's was a freakishly big shadow to be stuck standing in. He dropped a hand to the top of Sasuke's head and ruffled his hair as the family made their way outside of the theater and to the Prius parked across the street.

“Shisui, we were planning on getting some dinner out. If your father's not expecting you back, would you like to join us?” Mikoto asked, smiling warmly at him.

“Would I _ever_ ,” Shisui crowed, grinning. “Dad and I have had hot pockets for dinner the past three nights in a row. I miss taste.”

One of the best things about being friends with Itachi was Mikoto's insatiable need to fill every teenage boy she came across with food; Shisui doubly so, being a motherless waif and all. He tried to pay her back by being as good to her sons as possible, and threw in the occasional car-washing when he remembered to think of it.

Itachi let out a soft groan from where he was resting against the door of the car.

“Mother, I feel absolutely disgusting,” he said, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a darling little frown. “Could we go home first so I can shower?”

“I can follow you on the bike and be a waste of space on your couch while Itachi gets un-grossified,” Shisui offered, resting his arm on Itachi's shoulder. “Then maybe I could take Itachi to the restaurant on the back of the bike. I brought an extra helmet.” Shisui had wanted a Harley since he was in kindergarten, and had gotten his permit the second it was legal; six long months later and he finally had his license, enabling him to take passengers. Itachi would be the first, and Shisui didn't want it any other way.

“Stay safe and drive slowly,” Fugaku cut in. Itachi gave one of his soft, half-secret smiles; Shisui gave in to the urge to pinch his cheek.

–

“I'm almost ready,” Itachi said as he padded down the stairs and into the living room, running a towel over his wet hair. “I just need to find the clean laundry. I'm out of shirts.”

_No shit,_ Shisui thought, tearing his eyes away from the smoothness of Itachi's bare back as he knelt in front of the hamper full of folded clothes. He was by no means sculpted, but the ballet had a visible effect on his physique. When he got a little older, the swell of muscle under his skin would be damn near heartbreaking.

Shisui picked up the glass of lemonade Mikoto had insisted he sip while waiting for Itachi to finish up. “Hey, is it just me, or do you guys need a humidifier? Talk about dry heat. My tongue's sticking to the roof of my mouth,” he complained, pressing the glass to his lips. Itachi found a shirt he liked and stood up to pull it over his head, shoulders and upper back flexing with the movement. Shisui took a long swallow that did precious little to alleviate the dryness in his mouth.

“I think you're hallucinating,” Itachi said in what Shisui had privately dubbed his lab-assistant voice—cool, clinical, patient, and utterly Uchiha. He pulled his wet hair free from the neck of his shirt and looped an elastic around it, securing it into a low ponytail. “Where's Sasuke?”

“Left with your parents because you were taking too long,” Shisui replied. The shirt Itachi had picked was long-sleeved, simple, and gray, with the words “Swan Lake, 2006” emblazoned across the back. It had roughly the shape of a frumpy, hoodless sweatshirt, so the fact that it made Itachi look disgustingly adorable made absolutely no logical sense. Shisui chalked it up to fugly-resistent genetic code; It was a well-known fact that Uchihas could turn heads in burlap sacks. Even Shisui had it. His friends at school were constantly telling him his bedhead should be kept in a museum under lock and key.

He set down his empty glass and stood up, stretching his arms and coaxing them into obnoxious popping sounds that made Itachi flinch visibly. “Ready, kiddo?”

Itachi headed into the front hall, Shisui following closely behind, and grabbed a yard sale bomber jacket off the banister. “I'm not a child,” he said, shooting an 'I-called-your-bullshit' stare at Shisui from under the long bangs framing his face. “Let's go.”

Shisui followed him outside and started up the bike while Itachi locked the house. The spare helmet was hot pink, causing another one of those adorable Uchiha basilisk stares, but Itachi put it with the air of someone sacrificing a great deal of dignity (which he was, but Itachi had dignity coming out the _ass_ on normal occasions, so Shisui wasn't worried). He settled himself onto the back of the bike and his hands on Shisui's shoulders, and Shisui prayed he wouldn't run into any squirrels; the warm, tense grip on his shoulders was a completely alien feeling, and surprisingly distracting.

“Hang on, pumpkin,” Shisui called through the helmet, and the grip on his shoulders tightened.

–

Biking solo was exhilarating, and sort of what Shisui imagined it felt like to fly. Nothing but the road and the growl of the machine underneath him—he could forget who he was, could forget his name and his responsibilities and let the speed and the air whipping against his body send his heart thudding joyously into his throat.

Biking with Itachi was exhilarating and _terrifying_ , and sort of what Shisui imagined it felt like to jump to your death. The machine bled into the body behind him and through his own, creating a dizzying loop of shuddering power that left him breathless and hyper-sensitive. They melded with the bike and the road and each other, the wind swirling madly around them.

The ride left him feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach, but nowhere near the very final splat of landing after a long free-fall. Maybe, he decided, riding with Itachi was more like flying through a raging hurricane.

 

_September, 2008_

“I think I like the tapioca better,” Shisui said, swishing around the rose milk tea with lychee jelly he'd ordered. Itachi held his own drink, vanilla milk tea with tapioca, under Shisui's nose.

“I've always found the lychee a little too sweet,” he said. “I probably won't finish it. You can have half, if you want.” Shisui took the drink and handed his own to one of the many homeless people lining the square. The woman smiled toothlessly at him and stuck the straw in her mouth.

Itachi always got the same thing when Shisui dragged him into Harvard square for bubble tea—large vanilla milk tea with tapioca. He said it was because of Shisui's habit of picking the strangest flavor combinations he could think of, more often than not resulting in concoctions that were almost completely undrinkable. Their system worked just fine for Shisui; the resident bums didn't seem to care if their free drink tasted a little odd, and he knew for a fact that the charitable aspect appealed to Itachi's inner philanthropist. It was a win-win.

Shisui draped an arm around Itachi's shoulders, took a swig of tea, and handed the cup back to Itachi. He chewed thoughtfully on a tapioca ball as they passed the gate leading into the Harvard yard.

“Could you see yourself going to school here, smarty?” he asked, nuzzling playfully against Itachi's hair. His younger cousin was freakishly intelligent, to the point where Shisui had made it a private game to check for his circuit board whenever he got close. “You've certainly got the grades for it.”

Itachi stiffened underneath Shisui's arm, taking a slow sip of tea before responding. “Honestly? I'm worried enough about starting high school next week. I don't really want to think about about college just yet.”

That froze Shisui in his tracks, forcing Itachi to a less-than-graceful stop. Shisui reached out and grabbed his shoulders, raising one eyebrow, his mouth open in the universal facial expression for reality-altering disbelief.

“You? Scared of something related to school?” he said, just in case Itachi needed further clarification than his completely fucking pole-axed face. “Acadamia is your home planet! When you cut yourself, you don't bleed—you spill quadratic equations and quotes from the Dark Lady sonnets!” This he emphasized with a light shake to Itachi's shoulders, and was met with a minute eyeroll that was equal parts irritated and amused.

“Seriously, what the hell are you afraid of?” Shisui asked, bringing his voice down a notch or three as he resumed walking. He grabbed the tea again and hooked his hand around Itachi's elbow. “You're the smartest kid I know. You'll be fine.”

Itachi's elbow bent, then straightened out again; he'd stuck his hands in his pocket. He let out a soft sigh that sent his over-long bangs fluttering back from his forehead.

“It's not the work that bothers me,” he said, in that quiet way that made it sound like the words had put up a hell of a fight to avoid coming out and Itachi was worn out from the battle. The corner of his lip turned up in a humorless smile, his eyes flicking to the side to meet Shisui's. “I'm not so good at the social aspect. It's been a while since I've been an easy target.”

“You're worried about being bullied,” Shisui said. Itachi looked away and didn't reply. He didn't need to. The subtle, tense line of his shoulders was answer enough.

Shisui stopped again and turned Itachi to face him, looking into his eyes just long enough to establish a bit of intimacy before gathering him into his arms.

“You won't get bullied,” Shisui said gently. Itachi's hair was soft and silky against his neck, and smelled of floral shampoo. Shisui palmed his spine, digging his fingers into the muscle there until Itachi relaxed into the touch. “I've got a plan.”

–

When Shisui pulled up in front of Itachi's high school at half past four on the first day of school, Itachi was sitting on the front steps exactly as Shisui had told him to do, disinterested expression and everything. There were a few students lingering a within three feet, a few more lingering within ten. Nobody was speaking to him. He didn't seem fazed, but he never did; perhaps that aloofness bode well for his chances of spending the next four years not being shoved into lockers.

Shisui killed the engine just in front of the stairs. The surrounding students reacted predictably, a few of them staring at him open-mouthed, others trying to hide their interest. Evidently, there was a criminal lack of motorcycle enthusiasts attending Itachi's high school, but that worked in their favor. The whole appeal of Shisui's ingenious scheme was the _flashiness_ of it. Itachi would make one hell of an impression, and hopefully one that would ensure his status of not-a-punching-bag.

Itachi casually got to his feet, and Shisui pulled off his helmet with a flourish. As Itachi walked towards the bike, further dropping the jaws of the students around him, Shisui put on his best devastating grin.

“Have a good first day, pumpkin?” he inquired just loudly enough to be overheard, handing Itachi the new blood-red spare helmet he'd bought especially for this occasion.

Itachi took the helmet in one hand, cupped the back of Shisui's skull in the other, and pressed their lips together.

“The best,” he said, and put on his helmet as calmly as though he'd merely patted Shisui on the head.

_Autopilot time,_ the only remaining portion of Shisui's brain not attempting to asphyxiate itself supplied helpfully. _Drive now. Think later._ Numbly, he replaced his own helmet, made sure Itachi was settled, and kicked the bike into gear.

It wasn't until after he'd dropped Itachi off at home and started back towards Newburyport that he realized the icy feeling on his hips was a contrast to how hot Itachi's hands had burned.

 

_May, 2009_

“Sasuke, you are being unnecessarily petulant,” Itachi said flatly, arms crossed over his chest. Sasuke was sprawled out on the twin air mattress that was supposed to be Shisui's, deliberately taking up as much space as possible.

“I don't want to sleep with you,” Sasuke said, voice equally flat. “You're too cuddly. I want the air mattress.”

“Sasuke, that's Shisui's mattress that he brought for himself. You can't just insist on taking it. Do you comprehend how rude you're being right now?” Itachi moved his hands to his hips, prodding the inflated mattress with his toe.

“Only you two,” Shisui murmured, shaking out the bedding for the pull-out queen built into the back end of the RV. The stubbornness of the two Uchiha brothers was practically sparking in the air around them. “Honestly, Itachi, I'm the one who tagged on at the last minute. I don't mind taking the less desirable sleeping arrangements.” He laid the comforter out on top of the pull-out bed and wrapped an arm around Itachi's waist, pecking a brief kiss against his cheek. His heart fluttered merrily at the softness under his lips. “And I don't mind one bit if you're cuddly. You know I don't. It's Sasuke who's ultimately missing out on this one. You give the best hugs on the planet.”

So Shisui was fairly certain he had crush on Itachi. His motives were pure; it wasn't like he was planning on sleep-raping the poor boy. He'd been perfectly honest. Itachi gave the best hugs on the planet, and Shisui didn't mind if he cuddled a little.

Shisui was also a motherfucking masochist who went looking for excuses to tease himself half-mad, apparently, but it was too late to take it back now. Sasuke was already dragging the blanket over his body, making himself perfectly at home on Shisui's air mattress, and Itachi was very carefully settling onto the left side of the pull-out. Shisui could almost see the invisible line dividing the bed perfectly in half.

It was a little too mechanical and orderly for Shisui's liking, so as soon as he'd crawled onto the right side of the bed and Itachi had shut off the light, he made a point to sprawl himself as thoroughly into Itachi's personal space as possible. Itachi let out a barely audible exhalation and shifted against him, and eventually they settled into a compromise with Shisui's head on his own pillow but his arm flung across Itachi's chest.

“Night, freaks,” Sasuke mumbled sleepily from somewhere near the floor. Itachi let out a slightly louder breath, this one audibly irritated. Shisui's arm moved with his chest as he breathed.

“Goodnight, brat,” he replied, shifting a little. Fingers brushed against Shisui's wrist. “Goodnight, Shisui.”

“Itachi. Have you no idea how to have a sleepover?” Shisui whispered, scooting himself blindly closer. “We're supposed to stay awake until dawn talking about boys, not go to sleep the second the lights go out.” Even with space in between them, Itachi's body was emitting heat like a furnace. Shisui hummed softly, pleased with the warmth.

Itachi chuckled softly. “What boys do you want to talk about, Shisui?”

The darkness was soothing, safe. Shisui splayed his fingers against Itachi's belly, feeling the material bunch and stretch with the movement.

“My mom,” he said, finally. “Before you ask, I know my mother isn't a boy. But, you know, it's something to talk about.”

Itachi curled his hand loosely around Shisui's wrist, sending tiny sparks all the way up to his shoulder. “What about your mom, specifically?”

The touch was anchoring. Shisui breathed in through his nose, once, and out through his mouth. The darkness pressed heavily against his open, blind eyes. “She didn't come and see Romeo and Juliet. I sent the woman, like, thirty postcards about it. She said she was going to show and she never did. I was _gay Mercutio._ She missed me in the role of a lifetime, Itachi.”

The humor fell flat, but Itachi's hand stayed steady against Shisui's wrist. The warmth of his skin was a better anchor than the darkness.

“So you're upset she didn't come and see you,” Itachi repeated. Shisui pretended he could feel the warm air that had formed those words.

“I know she's like that,” he whispered back. “I've asked her to come to every goddamn play I've been in since she and Dad got divorced. She never shows. I should know better than to expect her to change now.” He buried his nose in Itachi's shoulder, the smell of laundry detergent subtle but clear. Yet another anchor. “It's just annoying. I don't even care anymore.”

The blankets hissed softly as Itachi rolled onto his side. The slim fingers combing through Shisui's hair made him jump, then slowly start to melt as they coaxed spots of tension in his scalp loose.

“Except for the part where you care so much it's tearing you up inside, of course,” Itachi murmured.

Neither of them spoke after that, but Itachi hung on as though he sensed Shisui's need for comfort. The weight of hands in his hair pulled him slowly towards unconsciousness.

–

“Ew. That's seriously the sketchiest thing I think I've ever seen. You guys are so _weird._ ”

“I think it's sweet, really. They're like puppies.”

“Dad is gonna kill you, Itachi.”

“Sasuke! Your father is not going to kill your brother.”

Shisui jerked awake to the sound of Sasuke conversing back and forth with Mikoto. Disoriented, he pressed the heel of one hand against his eye, holding himself up with the other.

Abruptly, the mattress underneath him squirmed a little and groaned, voice thick with sleep. Startled, Shisui looked down to find Itachi on his back, nestled directly underneath Shisui.

“Seriously. You don't just sleep on top of someone like that. That's _weird,_ Mom,” Sasuke complained. Shisui rolled off Itachi with a moan, burying his face in the pillow.

_Baby, you got it bad,_ he told himself, and pulled the blankets over his head. Judging by Itachi's slow-motion movements, he hadn't woken up fully; hopefully, Sasuke could be bribed to keep his tiny trap shut. This was just not something Shisui wanted to face, especially before ten in the morning. Now all he had to do was convince his heart to quit with the palpitations already, and he was gold.

 

_July, 2010_

The night was warm, with a clear, starlit sky, a soft breeze, and good company. A few of Shisui's friends were throwing a bring-anyone, no-holds-barred, just-try-not-to-get-arrested beach party, and for once Itachi didn't have work or volunteering or an obligation to Sasuke. Shisui picked him up on the bike and brought him straight to the beach, all the supplies they'd need already packed into his saddlebags. He had slightly crushed but still tasty barbeque potato chips, four bottles of root beer, a few towels, his swim trunks and a spare set for Itachi, and the biggest sweatshirt he owned. The setting and the circumstances were absolutely perfect.

Shisui was in agony.

It had started underwater, when he'd been gripped by the absolutely brilliant (and by brilliant, he really meant impressively stupid) idea to try and kiss Itachi. It was romantic, subtle, and thrilling. Absolutely brilliant, ignoring the fact that not only was Itachi two and a half years Shisui's junior, they were _blood relatives._

The brilliant, stupid plan had, of course, backfired. It started out beautifully, the water just warm enough to comfortable, the distance just right. Shisui had reached out, taken hold of Itachi's shoulders, and used touch as a guide to pull him in. Their lips had slid together miraculously easily, and for a few shuddering, (literally) breathless moments, it was bliss.

Then it had registered that Itachi wasn't moving.

Shisui had yanked himself back so rapidly he was sure he'd be heading to the ER for whiplash treatment later. He'd burst from the water with a gasp, guilt roiling through his stomach in sour waves. Itachi had surfaced with a good deal more elegance, though his body language—tense, trembling, uncertain—screamed that Shisui had fucked this one up _magnificently._

Itachi had stared at him for a moment, and for the first time in his life, Shisui couldn't think of a single word to say.

Itachi had waded back to shore, dropped onto the beach blanket, wrapped himself in a towel and remained silent and unmoving. Shisui had booked it the hell as far away as he could get while remaining on the beach, panicked thoughts brutally tormenting his fragile mind.

It was his own goddamn fault, of course. There was nothing in the world more horrifying than unwanted sexual contact, and having Shisui, Itachi's best friend, as the perpetrator no doubt felt like being stabbed through the stomach with a hot poker. Shisui had fucked up, and now he had to deal with it or risk every cell in his body screaming _rape victim, your fault,_ every time he looked at Itachi for the rest of his life.

“He's sixteen, so I've managed to escape the 'pedophile' charge,” Shisui muttered, digging his toes into the hot sand. “Consent? Dubious, at best.” He crouched down and picked up a piece of driftwood, contemplating the grooved surface. The wood stayed stubbornly silent. Shisui threw it across the sand.

“Fat lot of help you are,” he growled, and upon realizing he was asking inanimate objects for advice on his love life, he fell backwards into the sand with a dramatic flop and a hopeless moan for effect.

There was no getting around it. Shisui was a horrible person, and wouldn't really blame Itachi if he cut all ties. The only thing he could do now was apologize, and hope Itachi didn't report him for sexual assault.

–

Itachi hadn't moved an inch since Shisui had left. He was still on the blanket, staring out at the ocean, bony knees tucked underneath his chin. The setting sun painted his skin in red and gold, deepening the shadows under his neck, and—Shisui was seriously getting sick of feeling like he was going to have a heart attack every time he looked at his baby cousin for longer than three seconds. He took a seat on the blanket, leaving a foot or so of empty space.

“So I kissed you,” he said, staring at the waves rolling softly onto the beach. He glanced over at Itachi. Itachi didn't look back.

“So you did,” he said, in that horrible, soft voice, the one that made it sound like he'd scream if he didn't whisper. If Shisui stared at the glinting, sunlit water long enough, he could pretend it was the source of the tight stinging behind his eyes.

“I'm sorry that I'm an incestuous rapist.” There it was, vomited onto the sand between them in all its ugly, festering glory. He squeezed his eyes shut, the water from staring at the sunlight running hotly down his cheeks.

Gentle, soft fingers swept across the hollows underneath Shisui's closed eyes, bringing the moisture with them. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. _Calm down. Don't look._

The fingers moved to Shisui's jaw, coaxing him to turn his head. Shisui opened his eyes half-reflexively. “I'm not upset,” Itachi murmured, “that you kissed me.” His dark eyes were at least a hundred miles deep, fixed so intensely on Shisui's he felt himself shudder.

“I'm upset that you freaked out and left me to think I'd done something wrong.” Itachi's hand dropped, his face twisted up in a sharp, pained relief, and he turned away, resting his chin on his knees. The gesture was small, but deeply hurting, and Shisui wanted nothing so badly as he wanted to stroke the sharp lines of Itachi's bones until he softened into peace again. He kept his hands to himself.

“I'm sorry,” Shisui said again, voice catching roughly on the way out of his throat. “You're not wrong. I am.”

Itachi's grip on his wrist was as painful as it was sudden. His eyes were wild, frustrated—shining oddly. _Shit._

“You're not wrong,” Itachi hissed. “You're witty and eloquent and protective and absolutely— _heartbreakingly_ beautiful. And I'm in love with you, so if you're wrong, than so am I.” Then, before Shisui could say anything, Itachi grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him in for their third kiss.

Itachi started crying in earnest barely five seconds in, and there was too much desperation in it which lead to an unpleasant amount of teeth-clicking, but Shisui still sort of thought that it was their best one yet.

–

“We're related by blood,” Shisui murmured, running the backs of his fingers across the side of Itachi's neck. Itachi rewarded his astute observation with a nip to his index and middle fingers.

“Second cousins, Shisui, and first cousin marriage is legal in the state of Massachusetts. Legally, we're in no trouble,” he said, sliding an arm around Shisui's waist. He rolled them over easily, and Shisui found himself on his back with a curtain of thick, dark hair brushing against his shoulder. He tucked some of that hair behind Itachi's ear, hand lingering against the soft skin.

“You're jailbait,” he tried. That earned him a significantly sharper bite, just under his jaw, and an irritated wriggle.

“You're not twenty-one. I'm the age of consent. Also perfectly legal.” Itachi moved again, and it became fairly obvious fairly quickly that he had no plans of playing it safe with that one. He slid his thigh between Shisui's legs, sending a hot, prickling spasm up Shisui's spine at the contact, and began a slow, steady grind.

Shisui ran his hands across Itachi's shoulders, over his arms, down his back, over his ass and pausing to use his hold on Itachi's hips as leverage to roll his own, reveling in the long moan it drew from Itachi's throat. He took the momentary distraction as opportunity and flipped them over, pinning Itachi back against the sheets. His whole body was hot and shuddering, nerve endings alive and receptive. Shisui slid his tongue against the soft skin of Itachi's neck, the taste of it sharp and salty.

“I'm going to New York for college,” he whispered into the soft spot where shoulder flowed into neck. Itachi shivered sweetly underneath him and wrapped a long leg around Shisui's thigh, pressing them closer, hotter. The pleasure throbbed, cresting and ebbing with their slow rocks. Itachi arched his back, pushing up sinuously.

“I told you,” he panted, and the pressure of his fingertips in Shisui's was just hard enough to leave him panting. “I'm in love with you. It's only a five hour bus ride.”

“You make a good case,” Shisui groaned, biting down gently on Itachi's collarbone, quickening his movements. Itachi dug his fingers into Shisui's hair and pulled, hard, and the unexpected sting had Shisui crying out and grinding down, pleasure clenching suddenly between his thighs.

Itachi's eyes narrowed, then focused. Shisui noticed just quickly enough to prepare himself before Itachi bit down on his shoulder and pulled his hair at the same time, though it wouldn't have made a difference—the pressure overwhelmed his senses, and he buried his face in Itachi's neck and ground long and hard against him as orgasm washed over his body, slick and perfect.

“Masochist,” Itachi panted when Shisui was completely boneless, working a hand between their bodies to finish himself off. Shisui hid a sated groan in Itachi's neck and covered his hand with his own, setting a slow, tight pace that had Itachi's thighs going rigid and his back arching off the mattress.

He nuzzled Itachi's jaw, wiping off his hand on the bottom sheets and then tugging his quilt over the both of them. “What did you expect, Itachi, pumpkin? I did fall in love with you, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure "ballerino" is not actually the word for a male ballet dancer, but I didn't know that at the time. Sorry if I pissed off any male dancers. Ahem.


End file.
